The Great Equalizer
by RedSmileyFace
Summary: Alternate Universe: The immortal warlord, Emperor-Hokage Uchiha Madara, has lived and dominated for over five hundred years. He has evaded that which makes all man equal: death. But perhaps there is another thing that can bring him down to the level of fools: love. MadaSaku. Kakashi is Sakura's uncle. Character deaths, and hence, a not-so-happy ending, child abuse (not explicit).
1. MadaSaku Intro

**Author's notes:** First Naruto story, but not first story in general. Kinda scared posting it, but whatevs. Poor Sakura, I have read stories of her shipped with nearly everybody, I'm such an inconsistent shipper. There are some fantastic stories out there! This is a rather short story (7 chapters, 1 epilogue), but I enjoyed writing it, so I hope it is enjoyed by those reading it!

* * *

The quiet of the night was peaceful, as was the moonlight that filtered through the window and onto the nearly smooth flesh of a woman's back. A man's calloused hand traced the dip and flow of her shoulder blades, spine, few scars, and derriere, before coming back up and wrapping his arm around her shoulders. Soon enough, he would repeat the process. His thoughts, too, went on a circuitous tract that seemed loud in the calm stillness of evening.

Her soft breast lay smashed against his hardened pecs; he could feel their swell, and earlier had reveled in ravishing them. Their sweat that was nearly dry upon their bodies was testament to that. Her heart, also, beat in tandem with his own; unconsciously the man felt and listened to it, waiting for it to weaken, slow, and die, as all others before had done. He expected it, but the woman currently using him as a pillow still had a few more years, preferably decades, before her heart would stop.

Besides the softness of her skin, her beauty that moved many, and a willingness in _his_ bedroom; this woman was also unafraid, feisty, intelligent, caring, and, perhaps most importantly, loyal. Throughout the ages the man had known many women of many different virtues with much beauty, but all had faded, all had paled in comparison to one who, currently in his arms, had it all. Five hundred years, a number of arranged wives, hundreds of concubines, an insatiable lust for war, an undying quench for sex and power, always on the lookout for even better than that which he already had.

His oldest son was dead and gone, his youngest direct grandchild still older than his many times removed descendent, who was currently a genin on his first mission; and still older than his youngest son, who had just been birthed from the woman in his arms not a half a year ago. His descendant tree was convoluted and messy, though his life was measured, controlled, and forever... If his mind was focused on his lineage, he could recount which members in ALL the current clans of his empire had his blood flowing through his or her veins; such was his cunning through the centuries. Even this woman he had softened for had a cousin in her family that was of his loins...

However, his thoughts lingered upon one subject this night: on how long would his current woman live, and even more pressing, how long would he care for her regardless? It was not a new thought; many such nights in recent times were wrought with worry over her. When she reached fifty, or even thirty and her skin started to wither and her breasts started to sag and stretch marks appeared and her vibrant pink hair became less so, what would he do?

Love, he scoffed internally, had never been an issue. He had loved no one since gaining immortality, and rarer still had any woman been happy to be in his presence. The centuries had passed with wails and tears, both in and out of his compound. He was brutal as an Emperor, militaristic as a Hokage, and rough as a lover. The most he had ever expected was a masochistic woman who liked being dominated and hurt between the sheets, who wailed in ecstasy rather than in pain, who had either forgotten previous lovers, or had had none. But any of that was a rare thing, and if anyone had been bold enough in his presence, they would have called him a rapist, a sadist, and cruel; always taking without any care to prior commitments or desires. And then, after forcibly taking all that he wanted, at some undefined point when either she became too old or he became too bored, it was easy, laughably so, to annul a marriage or send the whore packing. And that was only if he was merciful or pleased with her time as his; he had been known to just slit their throats, laughing as blood bathed his cruelty a deeper red...

What had changed? He found that he liked the quieter moments between him and Sakura, enjoying the times he had with her outside of carnal pleasure or torture. In fact, it had been a long time since he had wanted to cause her pain. There were many instances he could recall of his newest concubine staying his hand, soothing his anger, pledging him loyalty rather than cursing his name; had it been one catalyst, or a slow buildup of trust that lead to something more? He had grown soft with her, kind and gentle. He had made love to her, and had fallen for her as well.

It was new, exciting, made him happier than he could recall before, and he did not want to give it up.

Could he make her immortal as well? The gift was once hard to find, and probably would never again occur.

Could he send her away before the heart became too ensnared? No, it was already _too late_.

Could he endure? Could he be strong enough to watch her grow old, whither, and eventually die? He had though watching his first daughter dying was difficult, this he knew would be worse.

But he was an Uchiha. _The_ Uchiha Madara: Emperor of the Fire Lands and many other conquered besides, Hokage of the best and select group of shinobi, Lord of the Flame and Master of the Sharingan, immortal man of five hundred years and counting; he was more than strong enough, he could endure. He lived centuries on the memory of one mere lifetime of a precious brother, he could continue further with more splendid, though short, memories of a pink haired lover.

Sakura...

His hand settled wrapped her waist and stayed there, his thoughts settled as well, sleep finally claiming the man.

* * *

 **DVD Extra:** Madara was originally meant to be played by Kakashi, when the earliest smidgen of an idea was formed (I ship Sakura with nearly everyone, but I lean most towards KakaSaku), but the more I wrote, the more I thought evil-man Madara would be a better fit. This, and later chapters, were not as dark as it is now.

Warning: I'm not sure the ending will be seen as a "happy" one... take that as you will.


	2. All Is Well

**Author's Notes:** Thanks for all the reviews/follows/faves! To the guest reviewer: thanks for leaving a note! :D

Reference for the chapter: in case you didn't know (I didn't until fairly recently): "Zabuton" is the name of that pillow that one uses as a seat, in place of chair, so one can be comfortable while seated or meditating on the floor.

* * *

It was March 23rd, Sakura's birthday, and Madara had given her permission to ask for whatever she wished. So here he sat in the Hatake living room, in a position of prominence seated on the most comfortable zabuton and tatami mats available. His hands rested on his knees, and his eyes drank in the sight of happiness and love: happiness and love he was requested to be a part of.

Hatake's son was now a little over a year old, just learning to walk. True, Madara was the sire, but as years became centuries, the Uchiha Head had had no need for heirs, or desire to be a father over and over and over again, past the initial few children he raised and eventually lowered into graves himself.

Little Hatake Isuzu's situation was more of a norm rather than an exception of Uchiha Madara's child rearing practices; when his concubines became pregnant, he gave them two options: abortion, or find another family to raise the whelp. It was a very fine way of getting his blood in other families, too. Sometimes, he did not give the woman a choice, instead forcing the pregnancy, and "gifting" his children upon other prominent families. It was convenient holding his children over their heads: take care of them, or else war will come. He so loved, at one time, to go to war.

In any event, with Sakura as the mother, Isuzu naturally lived and was now raised a Hatake, as Kakashi's heir. Sakura was the copy-nin's only niece and blood relation still living, and while originally reluctant to part with her to Madara of all people (and he truly had no choice in the matter in first place), in the end it had worked out better than anyone believed possible. Sakura was alive and (more importantly) inexplicably happy, Madara planned to keep Sakura longer than originally thought, and Kakashi now had an heir to pass along his livelihood. The only downfall was that mother rarely met son regularly. In fact, this, her seventeenth birthday, was the first time she's seen him since parting with him when he'd only been three months old.

Sakura sat primly in a dark navy kimono with a silver obi that had been an obligatory gift of the Uchiha clan as a whole. It complimented her coloring and pale skin, and his eyes were drawn throughout the course of the day towards wisps of pink hair that escaped her traditional hairstyle and combs to caress her neck and the edge of the collar. However straight she sat and how traditional she appeared though, her laugh was anything but subdued. Her rich and loud musical laugh filled the room, escaping from behind a demure hand, harmoniously meeting her uncle's mellow chuckles. Isuzu giggled like all children did, wobbling on chubby legs and studiously chasing a rubber ball that Sakura had bought for this very occasion of seeing him. Madara was glad his abstract gift brought her such joy, and that she wanted to share with him.

Madara even tossed the bright jade ball back to his progeny whenever it came his way. It earned him a curious glance or two from Hatake, but appreciative smiles from Sakura, so he endured. He was used to tossing rich jewels or clothing at his women when he so magnanimously asked what they wanted for their birthdays. A few may have asked to see family, but never with him present. It was a novelty for him as well, to not only indulge in Sakura's wish but for him to enjoy it as well, in the end.

They even stayed longer than planned, and not when Isuzu went to bed, but rather when Hatake retired. It was well past two in the morning when Madara led a slightly inebriated Sakura through the quiet streets of Konoha and talked softly of the past few hours. Isuzu's pink hair was getting as unkempt as Uncle Kakashi's hair, as grandfather's mane; Isuzu's jade eyes were just like her's, but in Madara's facial structure. And Uncle Kakashi was doing well, didn't Madara think so?

He merely grunted in agreement while wrapping his arm around her shoulders, fingers first threading through the whisps of hair that fell around her neck. He was amused and content to let her babble. He had only ever respected Hatake Kakashi, even regarded the Hatake Clan as those who could meet him on the battle field, and give a good fight. There could have been cause for animosity, had Kakashi chosen to hold on to his hate; the loss of father, sister, and niece all things that Madara made happen. Instead, miraculously, camaraderie had bloomed, just last night as Madara helped Kakashi empty his sake stash.

Having Sakura as a hostage all those years ago may have persuaded the copy-nin to forgo acts of disloyalty... but then _she_ in turn persuaded _him_ to spare her once guardian. Strange things make once enemies... friends?

And after last night, laughter still pleasantly ringing in his head, Madara thought perhaps the lazy yet subtly witty pervert had a place in his court; perhaps an adviser or general or something... He was getting bored and displeased with some of his Uchiha descendants now-a-days. So uptight they were; had he been like that at first?

Sakura's birthday was now over, but that didn't stop Madara from unwrapping her like a gift, and giving both of themselves pleasure to end a wonderful day.

* * *

Uchiha Madara walked through the streets of Konoha, flanked by Uchiha soldiers (most whom made up his lists of descendants or nephews or cousins in one form or another), and cutting a swath through the crowds. He was not a lazy ruler who delegated left and right and was content to live slovenly, nor was he afraid to go to the masses and present himself as a target. Besides it being foolish for anyone to attack an immortal who could only die if he so wished, Madara was also very skilled in combat; deadly so.

Humility was not an attribute of Madara, or curiosity, or benevolence. What, then, was this trip? After living five centuries, one gets bored with the same routines, the same expectations, and the same social class. He enforced it, but that did not mean _he_ had to endure. He could go as he pleased, and it pleased him to remind everyone of such.

He sneered at the pitiful wares, he glared at any who dared look at him (and they quickly looked away), he kicked urchins from underfoot, and scoffed at anything that might have held his interest for any length of time. And he enjoyed it all. He especially enjoyed taunting the women. Any that were passable in his eyes he leered at, as only Uchiha can leer: without seeming to do so. The women felt a shiver down their spines, a prickling on the base of their necks, and felt the weight of eyes. But when they looked, Emperor-Hokage Uchiha had already turned his regal profile away. They were underneath him, he could have them if he so desired, and there was nothing they could say or do to prevent a possible abduction, and in public, to boot.

But on this day, a fine spring day that was no more different than all the rest, he continued on his way.

By nightfall, long after Madara had gone home and retired, everyone had heard that the Emperor-Hokage had just changed his routine. For the last century or so he had taken to sweeping women right off the street to warm his bed; and he had never just walked through the bazaar without taking at least one victim, not once since he had started this new terror.

Some speculated the worst was yet to come; that this was a false sense of security and Uchiha was just toying with them. In the end he would take twice as many women next time.

When Kakashi tucked Isuzu in bed that night, kissing his forehead and mussing up the tyke's hair, he lingered over the boy. The Copy-Nin was not given to foreshadowing, but that night he knew that Sakura would be the last that Madara ever took to bed. Stirrings of hope dared to rise in his heart. Though he might die before Madara and (hopefully) Sakura, Isuzu's generation and beyond might know something... better.

The hope only grew the next day when the last of Madara's concubines, excepting Sakura of course, were all generously released from the Uchiha compound with both their lives and a purse of money intact.

* * *

 **DVD Extras:** Yep, I named their son after a car. Besides being close -ish to Madara's brother's name (Izuna), Isuzu was also the brand of my first car that I owned. *sniff*. Of course, I bought it cheap as at the time of buying, it was a 12 year old beast. Good 'ol car...

Warning: it gets angsty from here on out.


	3. Birthday Comparisons

**Author's Notes:** Longest chapter here, folks. Quite by accident, though. (I even split some into the next chapter! And it's still longer than the rest.)

Guest Reviewer: Thanks for the positive review! Glad you like the plot, Isuzu, and that Kakashi is the uncle (I love Kakashi, so much that even if he isn't the main character, I want him at least in a supporting role!). I can't promise a happy ending, though. I'm sorry! I hope you still enjoy the story, regardless.

In case you didn't know: " _Gunbai Uchiwa"_ , Literally meaning: _army arrangement fan_ ) is a non-folding fan, carved from a unique spirit tree from which only ritualistic instruments are made. This Gunbai has been passed down between Uchiha clansmen for generations. Madara Uchiha was known for having great expertise in using it. In addition the symbol of the Uchiha Clan is a fan which is a reference to _uchiwa_ (団扇, _paper fan_ ) which is another way of pronouncing the clan's name. (wikipedia)

* * *

It was another birthday for Sakura (twenty one this time), and another visit to the Hatake household, as it beaome a yearly tradition. Isuzu was nearing five now, almost ready to learn ninja basics. Of course, with Kakashi around, Madara assumed the boy had already been introduced to hide and seek, and tag, both favored games to learn ninja tricks.

Madara watched, again, as mother and son interacted; this time with more intricate toys and outdoors. The standard Uchiha gift of a richly woven kimono (this time lime green with sakura branches and a pink obi) would not stay pristine this year.

Five: that was how old Sakura had been when Madara first saw her, first captured her, and first used her for his sadistic plans. Originally, her capture had been to keep the White Fang, Sakura's grandfather, in check and to stop the uprisings. Following that event, Hatake Sakumo had been disgraced for choosing a mere granddaughter of only five over the welfare of many people. As Madara wanted, Sakumo had backed away, stopped leading the underground insurgents. As an added bonus, the White Fang eventually committed seppuku.

Madara only cruelly smiled as Sakura's childish wails could be heard in his dungeons. He had been prepared to kill the little blossom, too, and would not have minded it either had her grandfather or uncle chose to continue the rebellions rather than protect their relative. However, the new Hatake Clan Head chose to follow his father's example, to remain passive, and so Sakura still lived.

As with every week on a certain planned day, Madara endured the small crowd of worry warts who came and made sure their loved ones still lived under Emperor-Hokage Madara's "care", including Sakura's uncle. The little hostage situation would carry on for years to come, and a relatively uneasy peace existed.

In fact: this peace and contentment were only known to Madara in his first ten years of life, and remarkably, in the last ten as well…

He had not thought of life in terms of years in so long. For an immortal, such constraints or categorical thinking escaped him. But when Isuzu was born, the years suddenly came back. At first, subtly, in that he recalled his first born child, what year that was, and how long it lived.

But as Isuzu got older, and reached milestones that were the same as Sakura's while living with him, Madara started comparing mother and son more and more.

It started when Isuzu was five. Or had all started when Sakura was five? Had it really been fifteen years since that fateful kidnapping? Where did it all go? And how different it was then the previous five hundred or so years. What changes would Isuzu wreck in Madara's life? For surely Sakura had done the most damage of all since when Izuna, Madara's beloved brother, was still alive.

It was fascinating, in a way, how his mind automatically drew comparisons between mother and son. They were vastly different, but as Sakura watched over and cared for Isuzu, so Madara drew comparisons for Sakura...

Isuzu would be able to hold on to his innocence far longer than his mother. At five, after meeting her the first time at some festival or other, guided by her grandfather's hand, Uchiha Madara had his best ANBU man steal Sakura right from Sakumo's pathetic guard. To be fair, had it been anyone but Itachi or himself, Madara doubts the twenty guards, plus the Haruno parents, would have been defeated so easily.

Poor little Sakura, awoken by clashes of metal, thuds of bodies, and screams of the dying, running pell-mell towards what she believed would be able to protect her and explain things to her, was unfortunate enough to have seen her parents killed in front of her. With the last slash at Haruno Kizashi, Itachi's blade sprayed father's blood upon daughter's distraught visage.

And that brought up the second time Madara met Sakura, bloodied and crying in anguish just inside the gates of his castle. He merely chuckled at her, taunting her as she pitifully glared at him with eyes of watery green fire. He had praised Itachi, whom she turned her fury towards, even as the ANBU boy then forcefully escorted her to the prisons.

Her tears would only intensify a few short weeks later when Madara had Itachi inform their little hostage that her grandfather had, by his own hand, passed from this world on to the next. And yet, none of this had endeared Sakura to Madara, it was just like any other hostage situation in his mind; if the vision of her fury strayed into his thoughts from time to time, he gave it no thought other than how to use her against the rebels, specifically Kakashi, and awaiting the time when he could crush their disloyal spirits by killing her.

When Isuzu was seven, Sakura bought him a dog for her annual birthday visit. When Sakura had been seven, she wore hand-me-downs that were too large on her frame, and cleaned the Uchiha household. While Isuzu now chased the new shinobi-dog, Madara recalled seeing dirty pink locks tied up and bobbing and weaving as a little urchin danced with a broom in the courtyard. She had been so carefree in the dragon's den... He had thought perhaps her psyche was damaged due to a year being spent in the dungeons on top of losing everything she had known at so young an age; and yet, so long as she continued her duties as a maid no better than a slave, he cared not. As long as she still held sway in Hatake's eyes, that was all that mattered and kept her alive.

As both neared ten years old, new changes wrought havoc in both their lives. Isuzu was finally told the truth of his parentage and in shock activated the sharingan. He even ran away, just has his mother had done when he had the steward promote her to one of his personal maids. No doubt she had heard horror stories, how no maid who cleaned his room had survived such a job for very long. It was something he was morbidly proud of. However, he did not relish Isuzu's pain as much, if at all.

They found Isuzu much quicker than Sakura had been found. Madara smirked, waving away apologies, sharing stories (and sake) about how Sakura had surprisingly outwitted many of his own guards many years ago while hiding in the forest. A slightly drunk, and quite endearingly tipsy, Sakura had slurred that hiding had been a lesson from her grandfather. Apparently, and this caused great mirth in Madara, Sakumo had taken Sakura from her parents as soon as the little cherry blossom had been able to walk, and taught the girl to use chakra to great control, and then later how to use genjutsu. At two.

Madara roared in laughter at that anecdote, finally able to answer how it was his incompetent guards could not locate her all those years ago. He again assured a worried looking Hatake that he did not hold it against Sakura, Kakashi, or even the dead Sakumo, that his woman knew more than a civilian female should; or that she never told him till now. It was refreshing, he told them, that life was still able to surprise him.

"And did you cast a genjutsu on me, wicked woman?" He had asked, "Or how else could I let you get away with half the things you say and do?" He laughed, over shadowing Sakura's giggles.

"Of course!" She answered, though everyone knew genjutsu could not affect emotions like that, "It is my greatest trick!" And they laughed some more, helped along by the alcohol in their bloodstreams, the seriousness of Isuzu running away temporarily forgotten.

"To the great equalizer!" Madara toasted, "Death may have no sway, but love has surely brought me down!" He missed the stunned look of Kakashi, merely gazing into the flushed face of his giggling woman, "It does not matter age, or class, or... or how inconvenient you are to me!" Madara thumped the table, "Love does what it will, and has brought unlikely souls together, despite what I may will." He chugged the sake currently in his cup, quickly refilling his and Sakura's; "To the woman who would bring me to my knees, and willingly at that." He clinked cups with her, long ignoring the Copy-Nin by now, and kissed her lips before chugging sake once more. It was not a declaration of love, but it was as close as...

As he and his genjutsu wielding concubine walked home that day after the birthday festivities were over, he finally remembered, and frowned in sadness, that Isuzu had been so shocked to learn of his Uchiha heritage, so much that his eyes returned to an Uchiha black after releasing the sharingan. Instead of gaining pride, the whelp had lost some of his joyful innocence. Just as Sakura had once lost her enduring smile after he had beat her for the first time, when she finally had been caught and returned at ten years old.

No longer did she dance in the courtyard with the broom sweeping errant leaves or snow. The first time he had ever touched her, it had been in anger for daring to escape. She still bore whip scars on her back...

Eleven and twelve, years Isuzu learned what it meant to be a shinobi, as it was his greatest desire. Kakashi made no secret he taught his son taijutsu and shinobi tricks since he could walk, and yet though Madara lightly suspected an old enemy might be training a new rebel, he let it slide upon hearing Sakura merely mention how nice it was for father and son to bond as teacher and student. What harm could it do to Madara, anyway? As Hokage, he made sure to assign Itachi as a second sensei, and as Isuzu's team captain as well.

Eleven and twelve, years that Sakura was forced to learn how to please her master, in more ways than one. She was a pretty distraction from his normal depravities. He saw her budding beauty, how it would blossom, how it might please him later. While his bed was warmed by more mature and, at the time, more beautiful women at night, by day Sakura was taken by Madara's hand and "trained".

He may have had virgins before, and he may have gained inexperienced lovers, but never had he taken such... interest... such investment... like Sakura.

Her work hands taken in his larger and stronger hands, guided over his naked body. He forced her to pleasure him, to know what he liked and expected. She was afraid, and so damned shy, but would not disobey the demon king. But somewhere along the way, perhaps when she realized he would not violate her at so young, she became bolder, more exploratory. He allowed it, encouraged it even. He watched her rapt face as she took time to caress his bronzed and sculpted body entirely; he told her stories for every scar he had, and she kissed every last one of them. The young girl was starved for affection awed by this powerful and glorious looking man, wondering what it would be like for him to hold her and protect her, even as her rational mind no doubt told her he was not that kind of man...

Were those years what endeared him to her? He might never know, nor did he truly care for that, caring only that when he pushed her face from kissing a hip scar to kissing his hard on, she put up no fight. He threaded battle hardened hands into her straw-like hair and guided her actions, much like he guided her hands in the beginning. He whispered commands, and she listened, as a good servant should.

Fourteen, fifteen, and sixteen; Isuzu, during those years, had become a chunin ranked shinobi, making all those who knew him proud, even Emperor-Hokage Madara. Madara may even have forgiven the whelp for losing his emerald eyes, as entrancing as his mother's, and one of a kind in that none of Madara's direct sons and daughters had anything but black eyes... The boy had trained hard for the honor of not only wearing a Uchiha head guard (as all shinobi in Madara's empire wore), but also the red and white triangles of Hatake on his sleeve. Isuzu's pride in the Hatake name may have worried Madara, had he not, as Hokage, had assigned Itachi to stay on as Isuzu's captain. And since it seemed Isuzu had a healthy relationship with Itachi, Madara allowed the red triangles to remain.

The boy lived in peaceful times. Even though Madara had ruled uncontested for five centuries, there had always been a battle or uprising to deal with. Except recently, and Madara was a fool to have let a woman influence such, but it happened. Hatake's invaluable direct advice aside, the sly wolf also had... creative ways of dealing with new threats and backhanded citizens of Uchiha domains. Madara knew the song Kakashi was singing, and would have in days gone by beheaded the man for playing Madara as a fool. But he allowed it, because he no longer wanted to resort to war anymore. He wanted _her_ ; he wanted a life built up around her, and with her. And somehow, it happened, and he only feared its end.

Sakura did not have the carefree existence of her son, but she did not resent Isuzu for it. She smiled and laughed with Isuzu each and every of her birthdays, and more recently, whenever Madara suggested they visit his adviser's residence. She now got to visit her son on _his_ birthdays. The latest one of which she gave Isuzu, with permission from Madara, a Gunbai Uchiwa embossed with the Uchiha crest.

It was perhaps the first gift of Sakura's to Isuzu that did not result in big smiles. Isuzu had looked at it, glanced at Madara, a man he never considered a father but rather a stoic uncle or something, and then gazed at his mother. Who knows what the boy was thinking, but he only bowed at his mother, and thanked her for the honor. The fan forever gathered dust in Isuzu's room, Madara later learned.

So used to disrespect, Madara had not scolded the boy for it, merely understood. He was no father, had given that talent up to better build his Clan, and his legacy.

Sakura, at sixteen, had by that time already given birth to Isuzu, Madara doubts Isuzu was so experienced at the same age. She had been all tears; tears of joy, and of sadness. It was a hard birth; she would never swell with his seed, or anyone's seed, again. But she loved the boy fiercely, even as she prepared to give him away.

However, her life had _not_ built up to pregnancy and birth. No, he had her, at thirteen and fourteen, learn to please her master in the bedroom. As Isuzu had a second sensei, so did Sakura. He had her taken off maid duties; his room could be cleaned by others. One of his previous women, a captured and prized Senju woman who had nowhere to go, stayed and taught Sakura how to be beautiful, to walk the walk of a lady, to talk the talk of a politician, to sing the song of a courtesan.

And Sakura would watch, too, the lesson of bed warming; that, Tsunade had not wanted to teach Sakura, but Madara forced both of them. During the night, they would enter his bedroom along with his chosen concubine for the evening, and watch them fucking. He knew it scared the budding blossom, his brutal ways and the crying of the women, but he would not be swayed, and Sakura would _not_ be unprepared.

Her hands, still caressing her master throughout these years, became cleaner, silkier, and more learned. But Sakura was still shy, and scared; he had yet to take her. But when she was fifteen, he could not longer refrain from doing so, and had been enjoying her for twenty years.

The years after Isuzu's birth, and before he turned twenty one, were the best years Madara has ever recalled, when Sakura was in her late teens , the entirety of her twenties, and early thirties. He could only grasp at the passing days, months, and years; both loving every minute and bemoaning their passing. When Sakura was twenty one, Madara knew nothing better. When Isuzu was twenty one, Madara knew nothing worse than the havoc that was wrought.

* * *

 **Next Time:** A flashback look at when Sakura was 15, specifically. It will be a borderline "M" rated chapter, but I could not/would not(?) tone it down enough or delete it entirely.


	4. MadaSaku Week Special

**Author's Notes:** This was a part of the previous chapter, and I took it out because I thought it was too much, that it overshadowed what was really important to the chapter. But I liked this blurb so much I couldn't delete it, so here it is as a bonus, rather than plot, or even a respectably sized chapter (sorry it is so short).

And I'm posting it now rather than normal posting times (Wed. or Thurs.) why? Because, it's Madasaku week! LOLz. Unfortunately, I don't have much to offer during said week except an extra post, of an almost deleted chapter. So... enjoy? Maybe?

* * *

When Sakura had turned fifteen, Madara had been unable to hold back any longer. He had seen her grown into beauty from afar, had steadily moved her closer and closer; from the prison cells, to the servants quarters, to his own chambers as a personal maid, still as a ward to threaten Kakashi.

The first time he had asked her what her birthday wish was, it was when she finally turned fifteen, and he gave her leave to visit Hatake Kakashi, unsupervised. He half expected to execute this thorn on his side when she failed to show up the following day. He half expected to enjoy it too; it was about time the Hatake line ended.

But she came back, and he instead enjoyed something other than the blood of traitors: the blood of innocence.

She returned at midnight, like an ironic fairy tale, with Hatake escorting her. The mortal man made a show of regretfully releasing her, begging her to reconsider. Madara smirks to think just _what_ the fool had thought would happen. But she assured her uncle, she would be fine.

Led back into the compound by servants, she missed the staring contest between the men behind her, in which Madara did nothing to assure the Copy-Nin that all was well, instead choosing to lick his lips in anticipation, right in Hatake's face. The cackling of a Chidori was no match for the cackling of Madara's laugh, echoing as the oaken doors of the Uchiha compound closed in front of the infuriated man.

Perhaps it was with that sense of dark amusement that ignited the fuel to Madara's already growing lusts that night. A perverted glee aroused him; it took a lot to make the great Hatake Clan leader loose his control and the Uchiha God reveled in it, knowing Sakura was the cause for it. He could only think on how much better it would have been to hunt her down, kill her uncle, and rape her, had she not come back, but this was still... desirable.

He found her, as expected, cleaned and wearing an imported, thin night-time chemise of pure white silk, lying submissively upon his lavish four poster bed (also imported). He stalked closer, treading a trail of clothing as he neared, smirking at her trembling and blushing frame. By the time he reached the bed, he wore only his hakama. As taught, Sakura came closer, balancing on her knees as she reached for his waist, undoing the straps of his pants. Blushing, looking down, she spoke to him. Out of turn yes, but her words were not disrespectful, only confusing:

"Thank you, Lord Madara..."

She kissed his chest, on one of the many scars he had, just as her smooth hand grabbed his member and stroked it gently, as he had taught her. "I was glad to visit my uncle." She explained without prompt, almost as if she imagined Madara had asked, or even cared, to know how her day went. But, apparently, she appreciated her gift, when he though she perhaps despised him for keeping her from family. Who would have though? Only five hundred years and only now did one of his properties thank him in such a sultry way. She finally looked into his eyes, "Thank you for letting me see him one last time."

Is that what she thought this was? A family visit before her death? It had been, for other women in his past, but he did not put so much effort into Sakura's training for this... whatever this is, to be over so quickly. "Enough of your uncle, girl." He spat, grabbing her chin and bringing her closer to his lips, "I want you to think only of me." And then he kissed her. Bruised her lips, captured her moans, and dominated her with just a hint of his full fury, which, throughout the night, would come out in increasing levels of pain and passion.

When all was said and done, Sakura was a map of bruises and bodily fluids, not least of which was proof of her shattered virginity. It was a night of surprises for both. Sakura had not expected for the rough man to make an effort for her, but he did. He did not become gentle overnight, but he had made her cum multiple times, finishing their night, near pre-dawn, with an offering of a warm towel for her lady parts.

For Madara, he had not expected Sakura to be so responsive to his touch, to welcome his care even as he was the cause of her pain, and to easily, eagerly even, fit into his arms as they fell asleep.


	5. Confessions

**Author's Notes:** Thanks for all the support thus far, from follows to guest reviews, it means a lot! :D It is all awesome.

* * *

"I want to grow old with you." He whispered, eliciting a shiver to shake the woman in his arms.

He heard her whimper, and moaning a name, his name, "Madara..."

"I love you." He said, the first time in years, centuries, he had ever said so.

She screamed her peak, and he followed.

There were tears in her eyes when he pulled her to his chest. "I love you too," she whispered, as if it was a secret that could not leave the bedroom, "I..."

When she said no more, he caressed her face, noting new wrinkles around her eyes, on her forehead, that her once silken hair had reverted to straw like consistency. None of it mattered to him, except that these were signs that she would be taken from him. "Shh..." he gently commanded, "we can talk tomorrow." Her serious face that had worried him all day finally relaxed, and he chastely pecked her lips, before settling them both to sleep. Or tried to; he worried still over her recent quietness; did she anticipate his rejection of her?

Indeed, he hardly kept a woman past her thirtieth, couldn't even remember the last one. Had there been one? Kurenai may have, and perhaps Tsunade, but only to relish his conquest over the Senju... but age is relative to an immortal and he couldn't recall if they really got that old in his presence... now, however, he definitely knew Sakura is past thirty five, looking older than Madara, who at most could be described as a robust thirty.

He regrets their differences in ages and life styles. He wondered how life might have been had she been around when he was young; would he have forgone his search for immortality, or would he have done the same regardless? Part of him believes that as a youth he was too angry, too wound up, too prideful to have been anything but a warmonger; only later could he have ever been persuaded to soften, the years not only lending success, but experience and a willingness to learn, to change. He wondered if fate knew this, and had saved Sakura for a time when he might be receptive towards her...

It had taken forever, and he was in the eyes of the people still a tyrant; but for one woman he wanted more, and different. He wanted, as he had said to her earlier, to grow old with her. Sakura was more than his concubine, she was an adviser, and a friend. Sometimes they lay in bed merely talking, and he found himself enjoying that new routine to his life.

He wanted to build a life with her, but by the time she came around, he already had one, and she more or less just slipped into the role of a long established cliché: bed warmer. But the romantic stirrings of his otherwise cruel heart demanded different. He tried, the few latter years that he has known of his true affections, to make a family with her.

He imagines he failed; nothing of his was hers, nothing of hers was near, and soon, she wouldn't even be his anymore. He is still an Emperor-Hokage, with expectations beyond her life, and she was still just an aging concubine that was but a footnote on a long and illustrious career.

Still not knowing what to do other than merely mourn her death when it came, he turned his back on her in bed, shoving his thoughts away.

In the morning, he followed the routine, finding solace in repetition at least; morning bath, dress, answer emergencies (there were none today), and go to breakfast with his woman of the day. Only this woman was his woman of the decade, nay, his life, he amended. And today was a special day for her.

"Dear Sakura," he started, anticipating the answer, smirking with fondness, "what do you wish for your birthday? It's not every day my favorite woman turns thirty-six."

He had already ordered the servants to prepare for their departure to the House of Hatake, to make sure his own gift for Isuzu was near the front gates... a new warhorse, a thing of beauty and rarity in these parts.

However, traveling and gift giving would have to wait, her words stunning him into stillness, breakfast forgotten in shock. "I want to lay bare my sins to you, Lord Uchiha. I want to confess treason, and beg your forgiveness." She said bowing and baring her neck over their table.

Eventually, his hands previously buttering toast fell to the table, a soft thunk filling the silence before he spoke again. "Surely you are jesting. What have you, of all people, to be sorry for?"

She bowed deeper, his frown following. "I love you, Madara..."

Though his frown remained, his heart lightened again. Yes, this was a joke, and soon she would rise with a smirk on her lips and they would laugh at some new prank. "If that is your sin, my dear, I have to say I share the same... shall we confess in the shrine... together?"

Her shoulders hunched, and he spied one of her hands moving from beneath the table to her face, hiding her emotions no doubt, but what troubling ones were they? Still bared from seeing her face, she spoke to the floor some more, "I failed, in my most important and lifelong ambition."

Again, his heart clenched. Something was wrong, horribly wrong, inklings of betrayal and heartbreak forming mere moments before her words shocked him to the core.

"I was never meant to fall for you, but I did."

There was silence again. He did not want to know what she _was_ meant to do; that she had an ulterior motive for being in his house, all this time, stunned him. The Way of the Shinobi had all but withered to a select few, of old military clans, and male. However, the Hatake was an old shinobi family from beyond his empire's original jurisdiction, they had not been here at its founding and Sakumo very well could have had his own ideals, uninfluenced by Madara's will. Madara recalled Sakura's prowess with genjutsu, even at only ten years of age, and promptly stopped that train of thought.

They sat in silence at the breakfast table, their nook bright and cheery in the morning light of spring, the end of March already chasing the chills of winter away. Sunlight fell on pink, making it shine like it hadn't for a few months. Birdsong filtered in, and the smells of breakfast lingered, sweet and delicious. Minutes passed, and still Sakura bowed before Madara, repentant and yet regal to have held an uncomfortable pose for so long...

He did not want this to end. However he despondently thought if this was the answer to the question: how was he to move on from having Sakura near, to no longer having her? Guilt inflamed his heart, and yet, what could he do but learn of her treachery, whatever it was, and send punish her accordingly?

Words slipped through his lips, soft and whispered, as though he did not really want to utter them. "What did you mean to do?"

A sob broke through. His heart clenched. "To kill you, Madara."

His blood boiled, he could hear it pounding in his ears, vision clouding with red anger. When he had taken a steady breath or two, he found he had moved unconsciously, her delicate throat in his hand, bruising and constricting. He loosened his hold, but did not let go. "All this time?"

"No!" She sobbed, tears falling and tremors shaking her body, and he could feel her throat under his hand swallowing with fear. "Grandfather never wanted to use me; he only ever taught me things for defense. It broke him to have me captured! It was uncle who first came up with the plan... he planned it all every time he visited to make sure I was alive.

"You were too strong, always vigilant! I couldn't... and then I became pregnant."

"Is that what changed?" He growled.

"No. Yes. It only delayed the plan, but I started to care for you... the plans kept getting delayed for one thing or another. But..."

By this time, soldiers had come into his rooms, crowding around the nook, weapons drawn and at the ready. Madara squeezed her neck in fury again; the rage at being made the fool all this time... his other hand had drawn his tanto and used its tip digging into her spine to hug her to him. "But what, wench?"

She sobbed brokenly, closing her eyes to him though he had been trying to ensnare her in his Sharingan. Refusing to look at him, she whimpered an answer, "I love you. I couldn't, I can't...!"

Her sobs echoed in the room, and his own heart shattered in his chest. The only thing pure in his life was not so anymore, and he grieved as if the woman had already died, though she still breathed in his arms. He recalled all those weekly visits of Kakashi, making sure his niece was alive or else the rebellions would have started again, the cold and calculating looks of the Copy-Nin as he left the compound.

She danced in the compound as she swept leaves, learning to dodge and weave. She studied under Tsunade, and he question the validity of doing that; a former kunoichi who had probably known the Hatake Clan, must have imparted wisdom to a fledgling seductress, made to ensnare a man's heart. And everything Madara demanded of his Cherry Blossom, she had heeded without too much fight, only enough to evade suspicions. She probably could have gotten away with more; he was so blinded by lust and, later on, love.

His hand holding the tanto to her back flinched, whether of its own accord or some subconscious desire to punish that which made a fool of him. Blood warmed his arm, and she arched into him in pain, and morbidly he hardened underneath his robes.

"Release." She whispered.

Suddenly, she was crying on the floor before the table, with Madara blinking away the disorientation of the genjutsu. He glared at the woman still bowing before him at the table, angered at her many layered deceptions, but still... relief flowed through him that his rage had been deflected before rash impulses truly had killed her. He heaved a heavy sigh, knowing somewhere within that he still... loved her, that she did as well. Otherwise, she never would have told the truth.

"Leave." he said, "take the horse, and go. I will have no more to do with you."

Still crying, she nodded, before shakily getting to her feet. Impulsively, he grabbed her arm and turned her to him one last time, sharingan spinning furiously as he imprinted an image of her once more. He leaned closer, making sure none of his guards could possibly hear his words or read his lips, "There is only one way I can die," he whispered, "therefore you would have been, and are, a failure." He shoved her away.

That was the last he ever saw of her.

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 **DVD extra:** This is, personally, my favorite chapter. However, I have a feeling the next chapter might be the most popular (maybe?) as it features, for the first and only time in the story, Sakura's point of view! We will finally see and know her thoughts.

But, yeah, undercover assassin, who knew? *cough cough*


	6. Memoirs of a Kunoichi

**Author's Notes:** So... I think I may have lost some reviews, whether by fanfiction's fault, an accident on my part, or something else entirely. BUT if you left a review, and I did not respond, it was not because I was lazy or ignoring them, but because the reviews were lost. I would like to say here and now: thanks for all the reviews and support for the previous chapter!

And now on with the (2nd longest!) chapter.

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 **Memoirs of a Kunoichi**

A small chubby girl of two or three waddled and chased a much larger person, a man kind in face and warm in presence. Laughingly, he sped up and slowed down according to how close the girl got. He summoned his pack of dogs for her, and held her hands before she fell to the forest floor amidst the stampede of furry friends.

She giggles, smacking the snouts of her friends, ninkens enduring because they adore her, know she cannot pat their heads gently just yet. Warm and gentle hands pick her up and place her on broad and steady shoulders. The man starts a gentle jog through the trees, eventually jumping and flying through the boughs. Childish laughter rings pleasantly through the air, and her hands grab at his wild white ponytail as if his hair were her reins. "Faster, grandpa! Faster!" She cries, and he indulges, making his summons swear they will not tell his daughter, Mebuki, of this "rough handling" of his granddaughter.

Another day, another fun adventure. They play "hide and go seek", wherein grandfather shows granddaughter genjutsu; she giggles and claps her hands when he fades into tree bark, only to reappear seconds later. Her grin is infectious, and he, the tree monster, growls and tickles her till she is nearly blue in the face. When she demands to learn of that "magic trick", grandfather doesn't correct her terms, just takes her tiny hands in his sturdy ones, and tells her the "magic words". And if he isn't darned, it takes Pakkun's nose in order to find her hiding quite well in the Sakura tree... He shudders to think of his daughter's reaction should he have actually lost their little cherry blossom.

Of course, Kizashi laughs when Sakura presents "her next trick!", and Kakashi tries to placate Mebuki by saying this was a good thing! Now Sakura could hide whenever Mebuki wielded her wooden spoon. Sakumo rubs his head in sympathy as his young son took a smack in the head from the very solid wooden spoon his elder sister, very effectively, wielded. Their little cherry blossom laughs at her dear, poor uncle, giving him no sympathy; but after playful cajoling from "Uncle Baka" (she really could not tell the difference at age three between "baka" and "Kaka"...), she gives Kakashi an affectionate kiss upon his birthmark chin.

Tag is another game beloved of Sakura and Sakumo. He was always faster, but he always gave her pointers and tips. Soon enough, she could climb trees and fly across branches and walk on water, not really caring to actually catch her grandfather, but only to learn the next new magic trick, both laughing all the while.

She never knew of Grandfather's life in the shadows. Looking back upon her life, those first five years were the happiest she ever had. It was not until Uncle Baka took over as Clan Head that she ever knew that Sakumo was an honorable rebel leader, or that Emperor-Hokage Madara was a cruel immortal tyrant. Grandfather was never serious in Sakura's presence, always loving and with a warm smile. Her parents, too, rarely told her anything of the outside world. Only Uncle Baka seemed to ever be subdued or serious. Kizashi, her father, liked to tease his brother-in-law by proclaiming him a moody teenager.

But not even Uncle Baka could prepare Sakura for the fiercely intimidating aura surrounding Emperor-Hokage Madara. The first time she met Madara, she had thought him a wondrous thing, more than all the other wonderful things at the spring festival taking place. Tall, imposing, with longer, silkier hair than even mother; he had impressive blood red armor on, and had a beautiful fancy lady on his arm. He was the dark to her family's light, both in coloring and demeanor. His chin never lowered, but even as he looked down upon Sakura, he commented to her grandfather that she was pretty, giving her a hair comb from his woman's own blonde up-do, despite grandfather's disapproving look. Sakura was spellbound by the magnificent man that she soon learned was the Emperor-Hokage; not even the fireworks could overtake Sakura's fascination that night.

His kind remark towards her was not meant as such, but as a threat, she later learned from Uncle Baka. A threat the White Fang took a calculated risk in trying to prevent by attacking first, a wrong decision that led him towards guilt and eventually seppuku. Sakumo had figured to infiltrate the Uchiha fortress _before_ Madara had a chance to harm Sakura, but Madara had already captured her, was already two steps ahead. One of Madara's ANBU, a many times great grandson and prodigy of the Uchiha, Itachi, had gone earlier to the Hatake's, awaited the proof of Sakumo's rebellion, for him and Kakashi to leave, and had then had torn Sakura's happiness to shreds. It was that man that had murdered twenty guards and friends of the White Fang, murdered the Haruno's before Sakura's eyes, and had forcibly taken the shocked girl away from everything she knew and held dear.

Even at five years old, scared and alone in the dank dungeons, little Sakura had promised herself that Madara would pay for orchestrating the death of her parents, for laughing in her face as he admitted to it, mere hours after the fact. And only a few days later, her little world became darker upon hearing of her grandfather's death, committing suicide because he believed he had failed her. Screams of anguish ripped through her; how could he leave her? How could she let him know he never failed her? How could she go on? It wasn't Grandfather's fault, it was Madara's!

Many times since then Sakura recalls the duality of Madara: he is both fascinating, and terrible. She hardly knows, some days, what to feel about him. But Uncle Baka would remind her of Grandfather every visit both with words and his very appearance that mirrored the White Fang, every week, and promised retribution for the whole of their family.

It was uncle who encouraged her to continue to practice genjutsu, who told her of an as of yet unnamed supporter within the Uchiha clan, who was both an enemy and not, selling secrets for the price of time. Uncle told her to wait for said opportune time, that it would take years. But it would come, he promised her; it would come.

And one day, Sakura lost faith in her uncle after he told her his tentative plans, and she ran away. The Uchiha had thought she was afraid to be one of Lord Madara's personal maids, but it had been Kakashi that had frightened her. He wanted her to get close to Madara, to excel at being his maid, to do whatever that foul man wanted, to gain the confidence of the emperor. If possible, gain his affections. The unnamed spy, still unknown to Sakura for the man's protection, had said Madara's feelings were key to his downfall.

That day was only made worse as when she was finally apprehended, Madara himself beat her for daring to try to escape; tying her wrists, tearing her clothes off, and whipping her back and bottom raw. Tears of pain and humiliation flowed freely, confusion festering with hate: how was she supposed to like, pretend or not, this foul man?

For the next five years or so, she raged an internal battle of hating Madara, but not showing it. Some days it was worse, in that she found in order to not appear to hate, she actually did not hate him. As with the first time she met him, during the cheerful festival, he continually fascinated her, especially when he had her examine him up close and personal. He was the first man she had ever explored, and his fine specimen of a body distracted her from her confusion enough to enclose her in a little world. A world made up of inexperience, and a willing subject. She hardly cared it was Madara she was caressing and touching, only finding out that a fine male body looked like _this!_

His scars, all of them, had stories. It fascinated her in that he remembered them all, even after centuries of living. Not one battle was forgotten. Women's faces, sure, and children too passed not only from earth, but from his mind; but not one scar was lost in his memory. He was a man who loved to fight; it made up his livelihood, and he was very good at it.

Even the mighty Senju clan, whom she vaguely recalled from nighttime stories of her grandfather, had fallen to this man. Though one had survived: Tsunade. Madara had raped the darling of the Senju clan, and remembered the conquest, but the years had taken youth from his prized prisoner. He was arrogant enough to think Tsunade forever broken, that it was fine to keep a Senju Princess in his home under his employ, or else he might never have given Sakura as an apprentice to Tsunade; too old for pleasure, but useful enough. How fortunate for the rebel cause once the unnamed friend found out, and encouraged, through Kakashi, that the two women to work together.

Sakura had never known Tsunade before, but she knew that the once seemingly void of life woman eventually grew a dangerous light in her eyes the more they spent time together. It was true that Tsunade taught Sakura what Madara thought she taught the little budding blossom, but he did not know that Tsunade imparted kunoichi seduction techniques. Focus on the body, not the face. How to touch his body, how best to use and display her body, what to say, or not, to please him, etc.

She had assured her uncle that she was OK, the one time he had asked her if she still wanted to go through with things. When it became far real to Kakashi that his precious niece might possibly become too damaged, he had once again became her beloved uncle, swearing they could change things if she asked. But she stayed strong, and continued her mission.

How disappointed in Sakura everybody must be. She had done everything they asked, and was on the cusp of fulfilling her duties, whatever the unnamed shinobi planned she felt it nearer than before; except the unimaginable happened: she fell in love with her target first, and could not deceive him anymore.

Love did not bloom right away, of course. She had been fascinated with his body as a nubile young girl, it was true, but as much as he was using her, she used him to explore, nothing more. Affection only started when she realized he was far more gentle with her than she had ever witnessed him when with other women. Why should she be thankful for something that should happen? And yet, a young girl starved for affection, when not even Uncle Kakashi could console her on a daily basis, why should she not turn towards that which was right there. Always there. Madara hurt her, violated her, and yet was also the one who cleaned her and held her afterwards. He was, as always, a duality that Sakura was stuck in the middle of.

Love most likely bloomed after Isuzu's birth, after her loss of ability to ever conceive again. She expected him to have crass words towards her barrenness that he might have cruelly commented that he wouldn't have to worry about her getting useless again. She almost wishes he did, so that her original goal of killing him would not have been derailed. However, though her first and most important job as his concubine was to open her legs, NOT bear children, Madara did not sneer at her crying the loss of potential children. He was far more empathetic than she thought he had cause to. He held her gently through her tears and wails, said he understood, and opened up to her as never before. As she wiped her tears, and ignored her hiccoughs, he told her brief stories of his beloved brother, and of children he sired and happened to remember. Most where his earlier children, from within the first hundred or so years of ruling, but Sakura didn't mind his lack of care towards his offspring; she was awed at his soft eyes, a faraway gaze that nearly left her behind, except his words took her with him.

She wondered what life with Madara might have been like had they known each other without the loss of precious people, without the centuries spanning between them. Madara would have been a wonderful father, she could see, a wonderful husband had he been able to grow old with a wife. And she loved that possible man.

These were dangerous thoughts, and she fell into the trap of thinking them over and over again. With every visit to her family, every year able to watch her one and only son grow and be happy, every time she fooled Madara into thinking she was happy with him, and saw him smile, laugh, and be kind in her presence; she mistook Madara for a good man. She fantasized about this false Madara, wishing and wanting that perfect family life.

So she told him her plans, incomplete as they were, to kill him. Lovers never kept truths from each other, and since she still did not know how Kakashi and the unnamed ally planned to kill Madara, she would stop this farce set up by others, before she fell further into her despair. She had to escape the lies; lies she told him, and the lies she told herself. Madara could never not be who he is.

The reality was, she could never have both love and revenge. Despite her amorous feelings emerging and growing strong, her hate never faded, only evolved; hatred of herself for falling for such a man that had killed her precious people and ruled with a cruel iron fist, but also made delicious, tender love to her. Hatred that a possible wonderful husband and father would never actually exist and yet she desired _him;_ hated that _he_ tricked _her,_ and did not even know it. Hatred that she failed to avenge her parents, and her grandfather; she hated that her grandfather had felt so useless in the end, and that she felt the same: a failure.

It added to the long list of things to why Madara should die. But she would choose love over hatred. Someone else would have to figure out how to end the reign of Madara, because he would not perish by her hand, only she would.


	7. Madara's Choice

**Author's Notes:** This is the end! I did not start writing this with the ending in mind, but once I got past a certain point (most likely writing about Sakura's past in this universe), the end result pretty much stuck like glue and wouldn't let go for something happier. I might rewrite this in the future as it seems quite rushed to me; but perhaps time and reflection will better my opinion of it...

As always, thanks for reading, and for sticking with it!

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It did not take long for news to reach the Emperor-Hokage that his former and favorite mistress had followed in the footsteps of her grandfather, the "White-Fang", and committed sepukku. He heard the news from Itachi, who was still in Isuzu's life as the boy's team captain.

Itachi, after delivering the sad news, had asked his lord and ancestor what it would be that he remembered best about his lover. Madara sharply glanced at Itachi, taken by surprise by the question. In his long life, he was hard pressed to remember what made things better than others, when all memories seemed to blend into familiar events and similar types of people. He only waved Itachi away, commanding the youth, closing on 40 himself, to never ask such useless questions again.

In the solace of his loneliness, however, Madara found the question quite useful in reigning in his jumbled thoughts. What was it about Sakura that made him want to stay lonely, to forsake searching for something to numb the pain as he always had in his past? To keep his mind working, to keep himself occupied throughout the centuries, he had waged wars, played political and mind games, sired an army of descendants (and used every last one of them to his advantage, minus Isuzu), and took pleasures where pleasure could be had.

Why did none of those things appeal to him, now? Perhaps he had been too hasty in allowing Sakura to leave his presence, and his life. He should have held a trial, or imprisoned her, give himself time to figure out what he wanted: to forgive or to punish? It is too late now...

Madara walked the corridors of the Uchiha castle, pausing in the doorways of certain rooms, gripping the sill of random windows, touching certain walls as he passed them; all had pink and green memories associated with them, and all were precious because of that. She had made the Uchiha castle more than brick and mortar, she made it a _home._

She was not different in that she gave him a child, he had had plenty of those; it was that she wanted Madara to know Isuzu, to be a part of the boy's life. He appreciated that since most of his previous concubine-turned-mothers seemed scared of his involvement in their offspring's' lives.

Added to that, he may have caused Sakura great pain throughout life, mentally and physically, but afterwards, she welcomed his comfort when and where he gave it. No woman he had hurt welcomed his comfort, and he expected that, but Sakura... His strongest memory of her sorrow was not when she cried for a lost grandfather, but for her lost potential children; and afterwards had fallen into his open arms and listened to his own tales of lost children.

Tears leaked from his eyes, the first time in centuries. _"Would that she could have given us more children, and I would have kept them in our home!"_

He had taken her family from her, but she had given him a different one in return. She had turned an old enemy into a friend. Yes, even now as he realized Kakashi's involvement in Sakura's deception, he could not fault the man any more than the man's niece.

He had gone through the stages of grief many times in the earlier years of his life; Denial that his last brother Izuna had died, probably stuck in the angry stage for many generations, perhaps with bargaining for the rest. Now, grief just seemed... ingrained in his soul, permanently accepted as something he would have to deal with, forever.

Madara wanted to find an old bottle of sake and take it to the Hatake household, share the drink, and stories, with the aging scarecrow, and with the young wolf too, as Isuzu was fast becoming known.

Ever since Sakura had been recaptured after running away at ten, she had never fought her lord; never yelled, berated, played games with him, or any other nagging things she could have done. She always aimed to please him, and even when she offered a different opinion, she offered it in such a way that it seemed she was giving him the option between red wine or white, not outright refuting Madara's will. She was not a dull simpleton agreeing for the sake of agreeing, and he had found that amusing from time to time. However, he did not truly appreciate her pleasantness while she was still alive, and now it was too late.

Her pleasing nature, was it a farce to weaken his vigilance, or was she truly that inclined to love Madara? He suspected her attitude was a little of both; that she had started out as deceiving him, but somewhere, as she had said herself, she became as true as her words and actions depicted. Her last moments with him shone bright in his recollection: her declarations of love and an unwillingness to deceive him any longer... It mattered not now. What mattered was that she was gone before he had prepared for her absence. She had been everything to him, and gave him a new outlook on life, a new reason to live.

All his life, the reason for it, was boiled down not because he wanted immortality, and not because he feared death. No, it was for family. To avenge his beloved siblings deaths, and when that was done, to continue the Uchiha legacy so that none would dare question the strength, the loyalty, the power of Uchiha. There never seemed a good stopping point to his involvement, he could always do something more for his clan, and his clan's legacy, throughout the centuries.

What was there to live for, now that she was gone? She had taken away his constant anger, his lust for conquest, his need to control the legacy of his clan. It was true, as he had befriended Hatake because of her, he had also seen the worthiness of some of his Clan: Shishui, Sasuke, and Itachi to name just a few. The Uchiha name could thrive, he had seen to it, but he did not need to uphold it any longer...

Madara could not blame any of them for her death, he couldn't even avenge her! She already killed the traitor in the midst, as it was herself! There was no reason to continue dwelling on her, seemingly, senseless death.

Even now, he did not fear death. He had always wondered if every war he witnessed and waged, every travesty he created and enjoyed, would hint to his mind that death was something to fear. But every time he explored the idea of death, he still didn't fear, merely wished to shrug it off. However, with Sakura gone, death was the only avenue to see her again.

A few days later, he walked to the basement of the castle, his mind made up. When he reached a wall etched with a fire breathing dragon, he thought: " _It is time."_

Everything the next head of the clan, and by default the next Emperor-Hokage, would need was here, behind this false wall. "Itachi."

Said man flickered besides him.

"The worst has happened." Madara spoke into the darkness of the subterranean Uchiha grounds. "I have been made just like any other man, brought to my knees over foolish sentiments. I adored a viper that I thought was a harmless kitten. But I do not begrudge her, nor have I even stopped admiring her. I am finding I cannot go on without her, I am finding that... I am ready to die."

"Father."

Truly startled, Madara turned to find Isuzu standing before him, dressed in standard shinobi gear, graced with the Hatake triangles, yet staring at him with the Uchiha sharingan. "Isuzu." He greeted. Silence filled the void, the three men poised to strike at will, yet all hesitant to do so. The boy still untested, the man unsure where they stood, the immortal tired of fighting.

In the silence, Madara studied his son, realizing that he had not noticed him before because he was so like Sakura, even now. His Haruno pink hair was unruly like those of the Hatake line, but the boy's face was angular like Madara's, and bore eyes shapped liked his mother's, thought not green anymore. Madara's thoughts were so centered on pink and green, and his son had hidden, unknowingly, within his sire's distracted thoughts.

Itachi broke the silence first. "We came to avenge Sakura, to finish what she could not, fruitless though our endeavor might have been. We were prepared to die fighting... However... it seems she was successful, you _have_ been brought down."

"Itachi..." Stunned again, Madara could only chuckle. "I should have known. Alas, another symptom of contentment, being blinded to your true intentions. Very well, I accept that you are my son's friend, and my enemy's co-conspirator. Killing a traitor would once have been a joy, but now I lack the desire. If Sakura could deceive me, why not you?

"I will still honor you, favored descendant. I came down here to the bowels of the Uchiha Compound to give you further secrets for our clan. I originally planned to share with you the origins of my immortality, and the only weakness I possess. You already know it: death can only be achieved through my own desires. And I can guess that in your cleverness you wandered down here , forbidden though it might be, to discover such?"

Itachi nodded. "As a child I had wandered here. As a teen, after the Haruno's deaths, I shared this knowledge with Kakashi, who in turned shared with Sakura. It was very convenient that you had me watch over Kakashi for signs of betrayal, it gave us time to learn and trust of each other. And later, Isuzu as well."

Madara nodded, waving that away. "I had also planned to give you my last will: which is everything material given to Isuzu, and giving you leadership of both our clan and the nation."

Isuzu snorted. "I want nothing of yours, old man. And does national matters concern you anymore, what with you signing your own death?"

Madara glanced at his youngest progeny, and Isuzu caught for the first time the power and deadliness of the immortal emperor-hokage. Even without the Sharingan blazing, Madara made Isuzu feel small and insignificant in one, silent, gaze. Never before had his sire directed such towards him. He only realized he held his breath when Madara turned away, and he exhaled in relief.

The Immortal spoke to Itachi again, "Despite your betrayal, the position of emperor-hokage is still yours, should you wish it."

"I would not continue your will."

"I figure as much." Madara looked towards Isuzu, "Where is Hatake?"

Isuzu flushed, "He is more important to the cause than we are, in the long run. He doesn't know we're here.."

Madara smirked. How like the scarecrow to yet again be missing from an important moment in his family's history. "How much do you hate me, boy?"

"Now more than ever."

Madara nodded. "You wish I would fight back, to justify my death. Or that I would boast, to flame your sense of self-righteousness. Or that I would beg and plead for my life, for even now I can tell the skill and power you have gained. With Itachi here, you two would have had a good chance, were I not immortal.

"But I am not going to fight, I am going to hand you my life without remorse, without regrets, and that will bug you for a long time." And Madara could see the truth in his words: Isuzu gritted his teeth and clenched his hands, the opposite of the cool and collected Itachi.

Madara decided to make it easier for Isuzu. There would be no confessions, no pleas for forgiveness, and no lists of wrongdoings he wished to change. Even now, as he supposed a gentler life would have made the nation better, Madara did not truly believe that. The only thing he believed in now was the affections of Sakura, and she was gone. If Isuzu wanted to kill a bastard, Madara would give him one.

"In my final hour, my final moments, my choices matter. Nothing will be taken from me. I will _give_ you the throne, I will _give_ you my love. _I_ choose death, and _give_ it to you. Your mother has died for _me_ , not you, and I go to meet her. Therefore, neither of _you_ have won, you're only spectators to the end of my great and illustrious story. I. Regret. Nothing." He smirked at his last and most beloved son.

Roaring, Isuzu idiotically ran right at Madara, but the immortal did nothing to stop the kunai that plunged into his already bleeding heart, he even welcomed it.

Coughing blood, Madara grasped his son to him, as he had never done so before, not even at his birth. When he looked into Isuzu's eyes, he saw the boy glaring at him, but tears also glistening. He felt arms wrap around his torso, and though he already could not feel his legs, had the sense that he was being lowered. Isuzu leaned closer to Madara's ear and said, "Mother died _because_ of you, not for you. Go to hell you rotten bastard." When he leaned back, Isuzu found neither stress nor peace on the immortal's face, only a face devoid of a soul.

* * *

 **Next time:** The fallout of Madara's death, and graveside reflections (from Isuzu's POV).

 **Public Service** **Announcement:** I may have written about suicide a few times here in this story, but please! It is not something to take lightly, or ignore. If you hear someone "joking" about it, chances are it is hiding something serious, so dig a little, and lend an open ear if needed (but don't be too pushy). Or, if someone needs an open ear themselves, go online from wherever in the world and find local help. I know in the U.S., one can call a hotline, or a lifeline, and talk to someone. It's as easy as opening a google browser and typing in "suicide hotline". There are also online chats if that is preferable.


	8. EPILOGUE

**Author's Notes:** A final "THANK YOU!" to all for reading, favoring, following, and for the reviews I have received! It was fun to write (most stories are?) And I'm glad that other's have enjoyed it too. :D

I feel a bit all over the place with this epilogue, but I think I tightened it enough to get all I wanted, cohesively. Except Kakashi... he's a tricky fellow... (You'll see at the very end.)

To the Guest Reviewer: Glad you liked "Madara's Choice", and have been enjoying since first posting. It means a lot to know that :3 Thanks for leaving a note!

* * *

Isuzu stood before an unmarked and unadorned grave, frowning. Even now, he marveled that he felt any desire to pay homage to a megalomaniac who had done incalculable psychological and physical damage to so many, over a period of five hundred years. Not least of which was destroying his mother's family and making a mockery of both her love and her death. He is glad the monster is dead.

However.

A memory popped up in Isuzu's mind: he was but five or so, happy and unaware of anything evil or cruel. Three adults surrounded him, all smiling, all loving, and all playing with him. Looking back, Isuzu recalls the space Madara gave Sakura and her family, willing to just sit there and observe. It was his mother who grabbed the strange man's hand to bring him closer, to envelope herself within his shadow as if to be protected or sheltered. She allowed his possession of her, though Madara seemed willing to let her go, should she wish. If only for an hour or two at a time, as occasion called for; but she always went back, eagerly.

Despite her willingness, it was never really an option: do or suffer consequences, as far as Madara was concerned, Isuzu came to learn. Sakura never seemed to have a choice in her life, and that was what always irked her son. Sakura was asked the impossible, and it was equally impossible to say no; so grew up without a mother. Sure, he knew her, met her yearly, and sometimes monthly, never seeing her cry or be angry or complain. In fact, he only ever saw her with a smile and a happiness that could not be fake. But as a kid, he should have known her _daily_. As he grew older he grew in resentment over her forced absence. And his hated of his sire grew parallel to his realization of the trap his mother fell into; the trap of a happy captive. When she was saved, it would take years, if not forever, to bring her to peace.

His dad, who was really his grand-uncle, would tell him stories of his mother as a child, and of his grandparents. Even tales of his great-grandfather. Isuzu was awed by his family, and saddened, as kid, that his heroes were not around. When he was old enough, his dad also told him what Madara was really like, and when he expressed his desire to help free his mother, Kakashi divulged the plan Itachi had.

In the end, Madara released Sakura from his hold, for as long as she would wish, all of his own accord. And despite the fact that she perished soon after, Madara's intentions never leaned towards retribution towards Sakura, nor towards the Hatake Clan. He had not mocked her love, or her death. Only made it seem so to make it easier for his son to kill him.

There is no denying Madara and Sakura were fated for each other. The immortal warlord found the one woman he could not live without. And though it seemed as if Sakura got nothing, it was her love that brought down a cruel man. Isuzu, after a long time, realized something his mother may not have realized in life: her destiny as a kunoichi _was_ fulfilled: to bring down her target, with whatever means necessary. She _was_ successful. Only now, a few years after her death, did Isuzu realize the futility of trying to save his mother, and accepted the fallout. She had not needed saving; aside from the fact that Sakura had a destiny, Madara had once again let her go, as much as a psychopath who loves could let anyone go. And instead of her following him, he then followed her, voluntarily.

If only she hadn't left this world too soon, she could have lived to see the newly christened "Konoha" thrive without the megalomaniac's presence. If she lived, perhaps she would have felt pride in a job well done, perhaps inner peace could have been achieved. If she had waited a few days, and if Madara had died before she decided to leave without telling anyone...

He had been the one to find his mother a few days after departure from the Uchiha compound, dressed in a pristine white kimono, kneeling and leaning over her legs as if bowing to the sunrise; but a pool of blood fast blooming underneath her form belied the tranquil setting. It was not something Isuzu would ever forget. He was granted a few short moments before her last breath, throwing the tanto away, hugging his mother close to his chest and crying silent tears that eventually spilled onto her hair. She had weakly grasped onto his haori, and whispered over and over that she was sorry that she couldn't kill her target, that she loved _him_. She loved her family, she loved her son, but she also loved Madara, and had failed in her mission. She was sorry, she kept repeating, until she could speak no more. He could only hug her tightly, unable to utter words in his shocked grief. Would that he could tell her that there was nothing to be sorry for. It was _his_ fault, that _damned_ Uchiha Madra; not his mother, no never.

Perhaps, in her next life, or the afterlife, she would know peace... and perhaps Isuzu would eventually come to grips with the idea that Madara might not have been anguished enough with Sakura's mere absence from his castle... that her death may have been necessary was the hardest pill to swallow for her son. More difficult even than finding her on death's doorstep.

Already her grave within the new capital, as decreed by the new civilian emperor, had a small statue on it of his mother. It was beautiful, though Isuzu could hardly stand to look at her and not cry. The statue was carved with an elaborate kimono, with the Uchiha fan on the back, yet on her forehead, she wore a shinobi band depicting the new Konoha "leaf" symbol. She hid in plain sight, forever more. Even the Uchiha, headed by the new clan head, his old Sensei, Itachi, payed homage to Sakura's grave.

Isuzu knew the honor and sorrow Itachi felt at assuming the role. The man was steadfast and calm, knew the long game and played it to near perfection, but that never stopped his old sensei from bemoaning from time to time the inability to do things himself, or in a quicker time frame. They all, Isuzu, Kakahsi, and Itachi, blamed themselves in one form or another for Sakura's lot in life and eventual death. If only Madara hadn't... if they paid more attention... why did they let her alone? And Itachi; he had murdered her parents, and felt responsible for starting the chain of events. Sakura had never even known Itachi was there for her, never knowing who it was that was the Uchiha spy; he could never verbally ask her forgiveness. The new Uchiha patriarch still felt guilt to this day, yet he was also honored he would have the chance to fix the pain, by creating a new, more honorable, legacy for his family.

The Uchiha would be the first to never forget the blight that came from their name.

Isuzu eventually dropped some budding sakura branches on top of his sire's blank gravestone, knowing it was what his mother would want. Not for the monster to be remembered, but for their relationship to be acknowledged as real and true. And that is why Isuzu bowed at his sire's unimpressive grave, his last thought mentally asking for forgiveness for his last words, for calling the man a bastard and wishing him eternal damnation. The hate that had festered within Isuzu for a long time had dissipated slowly after he had taken out his father. Dispassionately, he knew the dictator was a villain, as the history books would forever name him, but he also knew, more than most, the man who loved a woman. Isuzu was proof of that. Not in that he existed, but in Madara's choice to die by his hand, the hand of his beloved's son. If there was anything redeeming in the monster, it was that at the end he had known goodness and love, and had chosen to die for it. It was worth visiting him every now and then. Even if Isuzu is still glad that Madara is dead.

Walking away from the crooked and gnarly stone marker, he walked towards the new hokage tower, hoping Kakashi, the man he called "dad" for all of his life, was up for a night of reminiscing. It was rare that the old scarecrow would choose to indulge his son's nostalgia, the pain sometimes too much to bear anymore. The 1st Hokage of Konoha would usually distract himself with work and local gossip. (And sometimes, to his son's eternal shame, reading porn.) He would often derail Isuzu with questions about a wife and grandchildren, to which Isuzu's face would color to match his hair...

Perhaps this time, Isuzu could instead tease the old man into revealing his face for the Hokage mountain.


End file.
